“Where’s the captain?” Frankie asks.
I shake my head and keep watching the lower deck as if I can will him to appear.
“Change of plan, then. What will it be?” Frankie asks softly from my other side as he shields Connor from the rough hands of the Commander’s first lieutenant. “Charge the lot of them and fight to the death, or go over the rail and swim for shore?”
I look around us and realize the boat is anchored just off the shore above Rowansmark’s dam. If we jumped, we might be able to swim against the river’s current. We might be able to dodge the arrows the Commander will surely fire at us.
But I can’t leave the staff behind. Not if I want to truly deliver justice and protect my people at the same time. I have one chance to put my plan into place. I have to take it and hope the captain comes through.
“Jump. Count of three.” I take a step forward to put distance between myself and my people. If I distract the Commander, they’ll have a better chance of escape.
“Wait a minute.” Frankie’s hand descends on my shoulder. “Either we all go or none of us go.”
I turn to him as the Commander says, “On your knees.”
“I need the staff.” I mouth the words, and Frankie squares his shoulders.
“Then we fight,” he says, even though none of us have our weapons.
“Halt!” The captain’s voice slices through the morning air. Relief hits hard, and my hands shake as I raise my eyes to his.
“This is no concern of yours,” the Commander says brusquely.
“My ship, my concern.” The captain, a tall man with leathery skin and short red hair, stalks up to the Commander, radiating authority. “What is going on here?”
“Mutiny.” The Commander turns back toward us.
“Are these people subject to your authority?” the captain asks.
“No, we are not.” Connor’s voice is clear and crisp. “We are citizens of Lankenshire, allied with the Commander in the effort to defeat Rowansmark. We are not subject to the Commander’s authority outside of military operational matters.”
The Commander snarls, “They’re from Baalboden—”
“The seal on my cloak says otherwise.” Connor steps forward, and I feel a rush of pride for him.
“There will be no bloodshed on my boat.” The captain looks at the Commander. “You have bigger issues at hand than dealing with these eight people. I’ll keep them behind while the army goes ashore. Once the battle is over, we can sort this out.”
The Commander looks like he wants to argue, but short of challenging the captain’s authority, a move that could cause the armada to turn around and head back to Chelmingford, soldiers still onboard, there’s nothing he can do.
“Don’t let them leave,” he snaps at the captain. “Especially this one.” He points at me. “Soon, I will be the new leader of Rowansmark. If I return and find them gone, the consequences will be severe.”
The captain nods solemnly. “Of course.” Then he claps his hands and yells, “Lower the boats!”
In moments all fifteen ships are lowering rowboats filled with soldiers and sending them to the shore. I stay at the rail to make sure the Commander and every last officer in his army is off the boat, and then I hurry to the engine room and retrieve the staff.
I return to the group in time to see Frankie and Connor finish packing up the travel bags. Captain Burkes waves me over to him.
“You know the plan?” I ask, to be sure, one last time, that I have every contingency in place.
He nods. “If I see a smoke signal from that direction”—he points to an area in the Wasteland just north of Rowansmark—“I open every floodgate on the dam and let the water into the city.”
“That’s right.” I tie the staff to my travel pack and pull out the tracking device I built months ago to use in case I ever needed to find Rachel. It worked well for me once. I’m praying it will work again. She’s somewhere inside Rowansmark if she’s still alive—I refuse to accept the alternative—and I’m going to find her.
“You be absolutely sure before you send that smoke signal,” the captain says. “I can’t see the city from up here, so I won’t know what’s going on. I don’t want to flood a city that hasn’t been evacuated, you understand me?”
“I understand.” I shake his hand, and then my people climb into a rowboat and head for shore. Jodi smiles at Connor as he discusses how much the forests of the southern Wasteland remind him of a poem he loves. Nola and Smithson both look worn and tired, but they put their heads together and talk quietly. Adam and Willow look at each other like they’d be kissing if they didn’t have an audience.
“How are we getting into the city?” Frankie asks.
“I don’t know.” I look down at the tracking device, but it’s dark. Rachel isn’t near the river. “We can’t walk in the front gate. We’ll have to find another way in.”
The army has disappeared into the Wasteland. I imagine the Commander will set up camp north of Rowansmark so he can survey the city and assess the military threat that waits for him. And stare at the device he so desperately longs to use again. He can’t keep an army of that size secret for long. Rowansmark must be sending out trackers to check the city’s perimeter. I estimate we have no more than two days before the Commander attacks.
I shake my head and keep watching the lower deck as if I can will him to appear.
“Change of plan, then. What will it be?” Frankie asks softly from my other side as he shields Connor from the rough hands of the Commander’s first lieutenant. “Charge the lot of them and fight to the death, or go over the rail and swim for shore?”
I look around us and realize the boat is anchored just off the shore above Rowansmark’s dam. If we jumped, we might be able to swim against the river’s current. We might be able to dodge the arrows the Commander will surely fire at us.
But I can’t leave the staff behind. Not if I want to truly deliver justice and protect my people at the same time. I have one chance to put my plan into place. I have to take it and hope the captain comes through.
“Jump. Count of three.” I take a step forward to put distance between myself and my people. If I distract the Commander, they’ll have a better chance of escape.
“Wait a minute.” Frankie’s hand descends on my shoulder. “Either we all go or none of us go.”
I turn to him as the Commander says, “On your knees.”
“I need the staff.” I mouth the words, and Frankie squares his shoulders.
“Then we fight,” he says, even though none of us have our weapons.
“Halt!” The captain’s voice slices through the morning air. Relief hits hard, and my hands shake as I raise my eyes to his.
“This is no concern of yours,” the Commander says brusquely.
“My ship, my concern.” The captain, a tall man with leathery skin and short red hair, stalks up to the Commander, radiating authority. “What is going on here?”
“Mutiny.” The Commander turns back toward us.
“Are these people subject to your authority?” the captain asks.
“No, we are not.” Connor’s voice is clear and crisp. “We are citizens of Lankenshire, allied with the Commander in the effort to defeat Rowansmark. We are not subject to the Commander’s authority outside of military operational matters.”
The Commander snarls, “They’re from Baalboden—”
“The seal on my cloak says otherwise.” Connor steps forward, and I feel a rush of pride for him.
“There will be no bloodshed on my boat.” The captain looks at the Commander. “You have bigger issues at hand than dealing with these eight people. I’ll keep them behind while the army goes ashore. Once the battle is over, we can sort this out.”
The Commander looks like he wants to argue, but short of challenging the captain’s authority, a move that could cause the armada to turn around and head back to Chelmingford, soldiers still onboard, there’s nothing he can do.
“Don’t let them leave,” he snaps at the captain. “Especially this one.” He points at me. “Soon, I will be the new leader of Rowansmark. If I return and find them gone, the consequences will be severe.”
The captain nods solemnly. “Of course.” Then he claps his hands and yells, “Lower the boats!”
In moments all fifteen ships are lowering rowboats filled with soldiers and sending them to the shore. I stay at the rail to make sure the Commander and every last officer in his army is off the boat, and then I hurry to the engine room and retrieve the staff.
I return to the group in time to see Frankie and Connor finish packing up the travel bags. Captain Burkes waves me over to him.
“You know the plan?” I ask, to be sure, one last time, that I have every contingency in place.
He nods. “If I see a smoke signal from that direction”—he points to an area in the Wasteland just north of Rowansmark—“I open every floodgate on the dam and let the water into the city.”
“That’s right.” I tie the staff to my travel pack and pull out the tracking device I built months ago to use in case I ever needed to find Rachel. It worked well for me once. I’m praying it will work again. She’s somewhere inside Rowansmark if she’s still alive—I refuse to accept the alternative—and I’m going to find her.
“You be absolutely sure before you send that smoke signal,” the captain says. “I can’t see the city from up here, so I won’t know what’s going on. I don’t want to flood a city that hasn’t been evacuated, you understand me?”
“I understand.” I shake his hand, and then my people climb into a rowboat and head for shore. Jodi smiles at Connor as he discusses how much the forests of the southern Wasteland remind him of a poem he loves. Nola and Smithson both look worn and tired, but they put their heads together and talk quietly. Adam and Willow look at each other like they’d be kissing if they didn’t have an audience.
“How are we getting into the city?” Frankie asks.
“I don’t know.” I look down at the tracking device, but it’s dark. Rachel isn’t near the river. “We can’t walk in the front gate. We’ll have to find another way in.”
The army has disappeared into the Wasteland. I imagine the Commander will set up camp north of Rowansmark so he can survey the city and assess the military threat that waits for him. And stare at the device he so desperately longs to use again. He can’t keep an army of that size secret for long. Rowansmark must be sending out trackers to check the city’s perimeter. I estimate we have no more than two days before the Commander attacks.
